Enchanted or Ensnared?
by Corvidae2392
Summary: Seven years after her time in the Labyrinth, Sarah is suffering from reoccurring dreams of the crystal hallucination. Desperate to rid herself of these maddening dreams and her dark, secret desire for The Goblin King himself, Sarah must confront Jareth and either give in to his dangerous charm or fight for her sanity! - Jareth X Sarah, rated for eventual smut ;)
1. Chapter 1

Sarah's eyelids fluttered in her sleep. Her brow was creased in concentration and her mouth slack, as if in awe. She tossed her head on her pillow, her raven hair fanning out like a wave around her. Though she was tucked safe in her bed, visions of poison peaches dancing in her head, Sarah was far, far away…

The whole room was spinning, as was everyone in it. People, strange and beautiful, were dancing everywhere, each fitted with a goblin mask, ranging from beguiling to grotesque in appearance. A gilded clock on a distant wall read thirteen o'clock and somehow, Sarah was far removed from time and its passing. Her peach addled brain was focused on other things, like the throbbing, insistent rhythm of a song that was both eerily strange and heartbreakingly familiar, floating on the air. It seemed to fade in and out, and desperate to catch its dying strains, Sarah fought her way carelessly through the crowd, which parted for her at the slightest touch.

She moved through pairs of waltzing couples, who all seemed to look at her in a way that meant they knew something she did not. Delirious and dizzy, Sarah had the distinct feeling that _he _was watching her from somewhere, a hungry owl awaiting its helpless prey, a Sarah-mouse.

She kept forgetting what she was doing and where she was going, though somehow, none of that was important. What was important, Sarah knew, was getting to the source of this song, this devilishly decadent symphony that was both seducing her and terrifying her.

In her wandering, Sarah turned and gasped. She'd come to a mirror, which seemed to span the entire length and breadth of this spectral ballroom. Her reflection was one she sorely recognized, and the image sent a twinge of sentimental but vague memories through her poisoned psyche. She looked like a sugar spun princess, wearing a white dress with balloon sleeves, a ruffled skirt and a jewel encrusted bodice. Her chocolate colored tresses, usually silky and straight, were swept back into a riot of curls, held in place by silver filigree that twined along her temples like vines. Her hazel eyes gazed back at her, betraying a confusing semblance of emotions, running the gamut from fearful and confused to enchanted and elated.

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared behind her and Sarah gasped in dreadful recognition.

The Goblin King himself gave her reflection a wolfish smirk before folding himself back into the gyrating crowd.

Now she remembered. The throat clenching terror came crashing into her mind, driving away what was left of the poisoned peach. The labyrinth! Toby! How long did she have? How long had she been here? She searched frantically for the golden clock, somewhere, it was somewhere…

But then he was everywhere, filling up her vision, flooding her brain with sensory input she was too bewitched to understand. All other thoughts left her head, except that this is what she had been looking for, this music, this feeling, this wonderful madness.

Jareth's black eyes glinted like bits of obsidian as his gaze roved over her. Sarah shivered as if she could tangibly feel his eyes leaving hot, prickling trails along her skin. His presence was like a wildfire, causing her very being to go up in flames in a matter of seconds. His crooked smile was deft and knowing, but Sarah, entranced as she was, could only stare wide-eyed back at him. His lips moved with the music, though Sarah could only catch tantalizing fragments of the words he spoke; things like "mornings of gold…" and "valentine evenings…". _What divine promises, oh, let them come true_… thought Sarah to herself.

Jareth's soft, glove clad hand sought hers in the swirling crowd. He grasped her fingers firmly, apparently with no intention of letting her go. His other hand snaked around her waist to pull her close to him. As their bodies met, Sarah bit back a gasp. He felt so deliciously real, and all her fears and uncertainties suddenly fell away, leaving only her frayed nerves and raw devotion pressed up against him in this dangerous waltz.

"Sarah," Jareth rasped, his voice a far away sound like an ancient incantation. "Fear me. Love me. _Love me._ I will be your slave…" He insisted.

Sarah broke their gaze even though it was agony to do so. The truth was that she was the slave and always had been. From the moment of their first encounter to this day, seven years after the fact, dream after dream of the poisoned peach and the crystal hallucination, she was the desperate one, the weak one, eternally indentured to a figment of her imagination.


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah Williams, twenty three years old, sat straight up in bed, her chest heaving, her brow slick with cold sweat and her legs tangled in her bed sheets. Her brain was still flashing with his image, his face burned into her retinal memory, his words ringing in her ears.

Swinging her legs wearily over the side of the bed, Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. Reality was slowly setting in, the shameful disappointment that it had all been a dream, like it always was.

During the daytime, when darkness didn't seem to close her off to the outside world, it was easier to convince herself that this was a childish obsession and in time, she would grow out of it. It was easier to chastise herself when she realized she was daydreaming herself away to the Underground. But in the middle of the night, alone and trembling in her bed, it was near impossible to shake the feeling that there was more to this, more to her life than a runaway childhood fascination.

But a purer, smarter, less gullible part of Sarah refused to be ignored. That was the part of her that thrived when she woke in the middle of the night, drenched and shivering with Jareth's eyes burning into her soul. That was the part of her that accepted the fact that Sarah was doomed to live her life in a world she didn't belong to, among people she could never connect with. It was a knowledge tinged with innocent, naïve martyrdom. In her head, she existed eternally as a sugar spun princess, a haughty heroin, a damsel in distress and Jareth was her mortal enemy and her prince charming. He had the power to save her or steal her, damn or delight her.

Standing up from her mussed bed and wrapping her oversized sleep shirt more tightly about her, Sarah crossed her bedroom and sat down at her vanity. Less cluttered than in her youth, the vanity was a lie. On its surface sat a few pieces of mail, some nondescript perfume bottles and an ornate dish holding her house and car keys, loose coins and the like. To an onlooker, her neat vanity might say that Sarah was a level headed, well-adjusted adult. But in truth, she was roiling with doubt and desire just below the surface. The drawers of the vanity were stuffed with frayed pages from old sketchbooks, all portraying scenes from her memory of the Labyrinth. Some were mere landscapes, all rough sandstone and glittering vines, the damp greens and greys of The Bog and many depicted views of the Goblin City and the castle. But most of them were portraits, from all angles and distances of the Goblin King in various swashbuckling stances. Near and far, three quarter view, profile and straight on, Sarah had perfected his likeness on paper; his angular features, his black mismatched eyes, his shock of pale hair, and his intense gaze which seemed to see and know all. Sarah reminded herself regularly that at least having these drawings was enough to keep from losing herself completely. They were the best and the worst form of torment.

In the topmost drawer of Sarah's vanity, which was locked at all times and the key to which Sarah wore around her neck day and night, lay her most precious belongings. As she sat there in her dark bedroom, goose bumps rising on her flesh, she unfastened the key from the cord on her neck and opened the drawer. Inside, nestled on a swatch of midnight blue velvet was the little red fabric bound book _The Labyrinth._ Its pages were creased and worn, stained from dirty fingertips and hot teardrops. Pressed neatly into the book's pages was a single white owl feather, marked with black bands like tiger stripes and tinged with gold along one side. The last item was a broken shard from a crystal, but it was unlike any ordinary piece of glass Sarah had ever seen. Its divine curvature sent pebbles of rainbow light cascading along the walls when held to the sun. These objects were concrete; they really existed, which meant that her time in the Labyrinth must really have existed too. When her drawings weren't enough, these items steeled her resolve.

Feeling a little less agitated now that some time had passed , Sarah took the book, locked the drawer and climbed back into bed. Snuggling down into her blankets, she decided to indulge in her fantasy tonight. If she was already crazy, what harm could it do?

_"The King of The Goblins had fallen in love with the girl…" _Sarah quoted in her mind as she read the line. Those words always gave her hope, as if somehow, some way, after all that she'd been through, there was some meaning in it all.


	3. Chapter 3 Author's note

**Dear Readers!**

**Thank you all for reading, I truly appreciate it. Apologies that these last two chapters have been long in coming, but I've had a lot of time on my hands lately so I thought I'd give you a double dose! By the way, I know these beginning chapters are a little boring, but they're necessary to help you all understand the premise of the story. Don't worry, the hot n' heavy stuff is on its way ;)**

**Love!**

**-Corvidae (Kat)**

In the morning, Sarah woke feeling fresher than usual. She wondered if maybe last night's episode would be the last, at least for a while. Her dreamless streaks were always terrifyingly liberating. To live for a few days as if she weren't a captive from the Underground, to not expect that at any moment, a goblin king could pop into existence and sweep you away to some crystal dancehall and whirl you into the night. To forfeit that possibility was as sweet as it was sour.

Sarah made her bed haphazardly and went down the hall to the bathroom. After turning on the shower and shedding her night shirt, she stood and looked at herself in the mirror as the bathroom filled up with steam.

Jareth stared back at her.

Sarah jumped back with a gasp, crossing her arms over her bare chest. But his face was gone almost before she was sure if she'd seen it or not. It was just her own face, flushed now with shock, her hazel eyes wide.

_What the hell was that?_ Sarah thought to herself. Seeing strange things in the mirror was not the best way to start the day. Feeling less confident than she had when she woke up, Sarah climbed into the shower and washed self-consciously, as if someone were watching her. What if it was Jareth? He was known to occasionally drop in on peoples' private lives through his gazing crystals. Who was to say that he wasn't lounging on his throne now, watching her lather herself with soap?

At first the thought was… disconcerting, to say the least. But…

_Hell with it,_ thought Sarah boldly. _I won't lie to myself anymore. _It was more than plain to her that whether Jareth was real or not, Sarah was undeniably and irrevocably in love with him. If he loved her too, well, that was beside the point. And if he was watching, why not give him a show?

With a demure smile, Sarah closed her eyes, thrust her hips into the stream of hot water, slicked her hands down her wet hair and reveled in the torrents of water running down the sides of her breasts and along the curve of her waist.

_Eat your heart out, Goblin King,_ Sarah thought to herself, knowing full well that any man, fae or otherwise, would find her attractive.

Padding down the hall after her shower, Sarah had to laugh at herself, flaunting for some voyeur who may or may not exist. But did it matter? If it made her feel good, then why not? By suppressing her love for Jareth and everything he represented, she only made herself miserable, a quivering, tightly wound knot of ragged emotions that exhausted her. If she embraced her wild desires and fairytale fantasies, shamelessly allowing herself to love and lust, then at least she was being true to herself.

Back in her bedroom, Sarah dressed for work. Running her own business as a commissioned artist called for casual. She put on a soft blue t-shirt, tucking her key necklace safely inside her camisole. Then, after shimmying into a pair of loose fitting beige pants, she slipped on a pair of black sandals.

Downstairs in her kitchen, Sarah put on a pot of coffee and got her travel mug ready. As she waited for the coffee, she stepped onto her back porch to test the weather.

It was exceptionally beautiful outside. Fluffy white clouds were scudding across a perfectly blue sky and it was warm and breezy. Looking up, Sarah shielded her face against the bright sunlight. And something caught her eye. Circling around the sun like a halo was a great bird. At first, Sarah thought it was a hawk, flying the way it was. But the longer she looked at it, the clearer it became that this bird was an owl. And not just any owl, but a barn owl.

Any normal person might have wondered to themselves, _Now what is a barn owl doing flying around at this time of day?_, walk inside and forget all about it. But Sarah was not a normal person, and barn owls were of special significance to her.

She watched the owl soar in a great arc and then land with preternatural agility on a branch of the tree in her backyard. It fixed its golden eyes on her and sat perfectly still there, framed by branches against the sky.

Backing slowly into the house, watching the owl unblinkingly, Sarah suddenly felt hot all over, her skin prickling. Was it really that far a stretch of the imagination to wonder if this bird was actually Jareth in disguise, come to check on her? Not for Sarah. Finally out of sight of the bird, Sarah shakingly poured her coffee, added her cream and sugar and started gathering her things to leave.

She picked her portfolio bag up, slung it over her shoulder and grabbed her car keys and mug from the kitchen counter. With a last furtive look out the back window, Sarah saw that the barn owl was no longer anywhere to be found. Tempted to write off the incident as a freak occurrence and forget all about it, Sarah crossed the house and stepped out the front door, locking it behind her.

The sun was deliciously warm and there was a soft breeze blowing the scent of summer all around. For Sarah, summer was her most productive time. The hot sun brought out the rich colors of the world and got her creative juices flowing. At her studio in town, she knew she had a stack of commissions waiting to be started and the thought was invigorating, not daunting.

Clambering into her little yellow car, Sarah situated her portfolio bag in the back seat where it was out of the way. As she tugged her seatbelt over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of something in her rearview mirror. The barn owl was back and it was flying in slow circles high in the sky.

Watching it for a few seconds, the realization that this was apparently not some freak occurrence dawned on her. First, she was nearly faint with the idea that maybe a new chapter of hers and Jareth's story might be unfolding, but all too quickly, the sensible voice in her head told her sternly to pull herself together and get to work. Deciding that either way, there were things to be done at the studio, she turned on the car and drove into town.

Unlocking the glass front doors of her studio, Sarah caught sight of the owl in the reflection, wheeling and diving in the sky just far enough away not to draw attention to itself.

Since it was such a beautiful day, Sarah thought it might be nice to leave the front doors open, and it might even encourage some foot traffic. The ground floor of her studio was a gallery which housed Sarah's artwork that was up for auction. Her work was all fantasy based, mostly depicting scenes from fairytales, along with some pieces that were original. These consisted of scenes from the Labyrinth, though none of her drawings of Jareth hung there. They were either hanging in the studio upstairs or hidden away in her vanity at home.

Flicking on the lights and the radio as she passed, she climbed the broad staircase to the studio. The studio was not a room, but rather it took up the entire top floor of the building. Sarah was lucky that the last person who leased the property was also an artist, so all the bones of a good studio were already in place. The entire far left wall was all shelving, which held endless volumes devoted to art theory and reference, as well as fairytale books which Sarah drew much inspiration from. The rest of the space was taken up by crates of supplies: canvas, paint, pencils, paper and a myriad of other tools. The entire right wall Sarah used for her larger pieces, hanging huge rolls of canvas for large landscapes and other vast pieces of artwork. Right now, there was a half-finished panoramic view of the Labyrinth from above hanging there, undulating gently in the breeze from the open bay window at the front of the room. That is where Sarah made most of her average-sized work.

A traditional easel was set up, made of gnarled old wood and stained with paint from art long since created. Closer to the window sill, there was a drawing board that Sarah used for all her sketches. It was scattered with sheets of drawing paper and pencil nubs because as of late, Sarah had taken to water color paintings, to recapture the blurred, yet intensely vivid nature of her dreams of the crystal ballroom.

Sitting on her easel was one such painting. Setting down her portfolio bag and kicking off her sandals, Sarah took a sip from her mug and stood in front of the painting, scrutinizing it against the image she held in her head.

It was all done in pale, pastel shades; peach and mint and periwinkle. But that didn't seem right because in her memory, Jareth's eyes were shockingly bright, and the masks and garments of the crystal ballroom were all blindingly brilliant, but when she tried to paint it like that, it was too real, and the magic was gone.

With a sigh, Sarah moved the insipid painting and replaced it with a fresh sheet of paper. To start her day, Sarah always found it helpful just to let go, and paint whatever came to mind, whether it was concrete or abstract, good or bad. Taking her brush, Sarah swept a coral colored arc across the paper and started to hum that incessant dream music.

Swirling her brush in the water, Sarah forgot herself as the dream song waltzed in her head. Her hand seemed to move across the paper completely independent from her mind, and it wouldn't matter anyway since her eyes had fallen shut. At the climax of the fantasy song, Sarah opened her eyes with a start. What had just happened? It was as if some invisible force had been pumping that music through her veins, and using her like a puppet.

With something akin to horror, Sarah looked at her easel. There on the paper, gazing at her with those black eyes was the Goblin King. But this painting was different, because with her artists' eye, Sarah could see that any other person might see just a face, the suggestion of a square brow, the sweep of a lock of hair, but only Sarah could see the Goblin King.

Suddenly feeling again as if someone were watching her, Sarah placed her brush on the table and decided maybe she should take a walk down the street to the café for some breakfast. Yes. Some food would stop her spinning head and slow her pounding heart.

With a last squinting glance at the easel, Sarah slid her sandals on, grabbed her bag and high-tailed it down the stairs, and outside into the warm sunlight.

After a few calming breaths of sweet summer air, Sarah felt marginally better. As reason started to take hold, she thought it was no wonder she could paint his face without looking, without even thinking. She'd done it so often that it was engraved in her mind's eye.

At the café, Sarah bought herself an over-sized banana –nut muffin and took herself across the street to the park to eat it.

The sensible voice in her head told her that it was probably not the best idea to hang around in this particular park, especially as emotionally vulnerable as she seemed to be this morning, but Sarah decided that there was no harm in enjoying her muffin in the fresh air.

Making her way to the little stone bridge that crossed the stream, Sarah stood at its crest, watching the rippling reflection of the clock tower in the water. As she chewed her muffin, she looked around the park. There were couples jogging together, people walking their dogs and their children in strollers, squirrels bounding across the lawn from tree to tree, birds chirping merrily. Finally feeling convinced that this was going to be a totally normal day, Sarah turned back towards the water, just in time to see the barn owl swoop seemingly out of nowhere and land silently on a protruding stone on the wall of the bridge.

The massive bird blinked its golden eyes indifferently at her and preened its ruffled feathers.

First making sure that there was no one in earshot, Sarah took a step towards the bird.

"If that's you in there, you'd better leave me alone. I don't have time for this." She hissed under her breath.

The owl blinked again and let out a smug _hoot!_ as if to say, "Fat chance.".

Crumpling the remaining portion of her muffin in its wrapper and stuffing it in her purse, Sarah stomped off the bridge and made her way back to the studio.


End file.
